Monday, July 14, 2008
Packing Packer
The witch is (metaphorically) dead!
Billy Packer, the CBS analyst who put a whole new spin on what it means to be a homer will not be heard during next year's NCAA B'Ball tournament. Looks like a lot of folks are still incredulous. Is this some cruel joke on CBS' part to attract attention to one of the only sports must-sees that that station still has? Billy Packer, the guy who never saw a bad ACC team, will take his act somewhere else.
Yes, yes there is a TV God somewhere.
Billy Packer, the CBS analyst who put a whole new spin on what it means to be a homer will not be heard during next year's NCAA B'Ball tournament. Looks like a lot of folks are still incredulous. Is this some cruel joke on CBS' part to attract attention to one of the only sports must-sees that that station still has? Billy Packer, the guy who never saw a bad ACC team, will take his act somewhere else.
Yes, yes there is a TV God somewhere.
Labels: Effluvia, The Sporting Thing
Tuesday, May 06, 2008
The New Seven. An Alt Take
P.J O'Rourke has a point and he closes it with this fine gem, as a suggested addendum to the Seven Original Sins.
"#6 Opinion. It's the reverse of fact. Listen to NPR or AM Talk Radio if you don't believe me, or, better yet, read the opinion page of the New York Times. (I'm talking about you, Paul Krugman.) Some people have facts, these can be proven. Some people have theories, these can be disproven. But people with opinions are mindless and have their minds made up about it. The 11th Commandment is, "Thou shalt not blog.""
"#6 Opinion. It's the reverse of fact. Listen to NPR or AM Talk Radio if you don't believe me, or, better yet, read the opinion page of the New York Times. (I'm talking about you, Paul Krugman.) Some people have facts, these can be proven. Some people have theories, these can be disproven. But people with opinions are mindless and have their minds made up about it. The 11th Commandment is, "Thou shalt not blog.""
Labels: Effluvia
Tuesday, April 22, 2008
Food-What you want. What you need.
In my days of youth and meals without guilt, when being a trencherman was not viewed as an odious hobby, parking myself in a greasy spoon with cutlery at the ready and an early morning appetite at full-tilt boogie seemed the enjoyable and harmless thing to do. Nowadays, with health claims/warnings/edicts running rampant and the distant future careening quickly to the pay-me-now present, I am forced to sooth the inner eater in me by tightening the belt and perusing offerings at sites like The London Review of Breakfasts. Such a cholesterol delivery, second-hand, is a life-protracting measure. I guess?!But, a tasty treat is always offered here. An example would be this review, which starts with,
"In Britain we have a problem with breakfasts. In fact, we have a problem with food in general and like a lot of problems in this country it boils down to class. I speak of the great divide between the caff and the café. In the caff you will be served enormous quantities of not very good quality food quickly and with no pretension or fuss. In the café, there may be a mission statement, there may be a picture of Nicaraguan peasants' children dancing happily because their parents have got a good price for their coffee, there may well be a family tree showing the lineage of the pork products. This will all be a mask to hide the fact that they don’t really know what they are doing. The service will be terrible, the sausages will be over-cooked and the eggs will be under-cooked. In places like this, I look at the quality of the ingredients and weep at the waste and weep at the bill too which normally tops £7 for a full English. Complaining is pointless because all the staff are part-time and most of them are as hungover as the clientele.
"
Don't know about you, but my college days memories, as plucked from the haze of encroaching senility, consisted of cheap restaurant meals, great overly loud concerts, one or two profs of distinction, standing room only at the Montreal Forum watching the Habs demolish another team, and eating at Schwartz's (yes, that's two categories of memories regarding food). I mention Schwartz's as it was more of a religious experience than simply a feeding-frenzy one. I seriously considered converting to Judaism after repeated visits there but swayed away from that temptation when a fellow student, a pre-med major who also partook of the smoked meat served there, brought me to my senses when he produced graphs and pie charts illustrating the short life span of a regular Schwartz's diner and a normal human being.
So, now I gnosh on little foods on little plates, while visions of large foods on gargantuan plates dance in my head. Being (somewhat) thin and miserable is not what I'd envisioned my life would be when I was parked at one of the common tables at Schwartz's, wholly enjoying the pleasures of real food.
Saturday, April 12, 2008
Who's your Googlegänger(s)?
Anyone read the front page article from yesterday's (April 10, 2008) NYT? Had to do with Doppelgangers on the Internet, or Googlegängers. The term "Googlegänger" has been around a while, at least 3 years, which is prehistoric in geek agedom, I presume.Since Google came around, I've been tracking the other me(s). As the article points out, "But while many people are familiar with Googlegängers, a fundamental question has gone unanswered: Why do so many feel a connection — be it kinship or competition — with utter strangers just because they share a name?
Social science, it turns out, has an answer. It is because human beings are unconsciously drawn to people and things that remind us of ourselves.
A psychological theory called the name-letter effect maintains that people like the letters in their own names (particularly their initials) better than other letters of the alphabet."
..i.e., enough about you, let's talk about me. Searching one's Googlegänger is a private guilty pleasure. I'm assuming everybody does it and I'm assuming it's not a group activity. Unless, of course, a group of you are Googling someone else's Googlegänger. Oh, come on, 'fess up. That perfect friend/relative/co-worker must have an evil/lazy/incompetent Googlegänger out there. It's only human (or in some searches, not).
As my full name is a bit unusual, my Google search of first and last name combo peters out after 40. I seem to have a Facebook account though I've never set one up. Another Googlegänger seems to be highly involved with bowling in Croatia while another seems to be a secretary in some sports league back in the Land of Croats. Not a particularly exciting bunch of Googlegängers I'd say.
What about you? Any daredevils, swashbucklers living your alternate life?
Labels: Effluvia
Friday, April 11, 2008
Expenditure and Goodwill Erosion #2
These new-fangled automated parking meters are quite efficient when they are working. In Pittsburgh, I've used these types of meters in various places and was never short-changed or maltreated.Philly.
Well, same state, different story. Not knowing yet what a pleasurable visit it was to be and having just had some police issues, yours truly was not in the most Christian of moods. Little did I know that I had to deal with the cold unforgiving nature of machinery before a night of music could begin.
Driving around the South Street area is always an opportunity for agita, of the parking variety. Well, non-parking variety, really. Special parking sticker area, limited meter area, 2 HR max area, "don't you even think about moving my garbage can reserving a street spot" area.
All of these limited areas and a very limited time to find availability forced me to drive in reverse into a questionably maintained parking lot. Luckily, I spied 3 cars in the lot of a very recent vintage, so leaving my unwashed and dinged 1999 Camry with 200k miles (a Philly visit vehicle) seemed a safe bet. The lot had no attendant but it had one of those central metering schemes which involved your punching in some info, the meter calculating your fee, your feeding in legal US Currency, and, to complete this faceless financial interaction, the meter returning the difference between the fee and your fed-in bills.
Easy enough it seemed.
$15 was calculated if you wanted to leave the car overnight.
$10, if you left by midnight.
Push the $10 choice.
Feed in a twenty.
Wait for the change to drop.
This dropped.
Then this.
Oh, then one more.
Wait. Hum. Bang.
Then, with a slight thump, a ticket to place inside my car's windshield.
So, in Philly Parking Math, $20 minus $10 equals $3, plus a very expensive blend of paper.
Needless banging of meter and muttering in choice Croatian curse words resulted in no addition to the money in hand. Looking carefully at the coins in my hand, I even doubted whether the excruciatingly shiny coinage spat out by this meter bandit was legitimate legal tender. I bit one coin and winced.
This evening was taking on the expensive tinge of those Mastercard commercials. Fun to see, lack of fun experiencing them.
Labels: Effluvia, Philly, Pittsburgh
Wednesday, March 05, 2008
1,311.5 to 1,211
After yesterday's voting results, all I can do is shake my head and think about the Cubbies. November 2008 looks like one of those grasping defeat from the jaws of victory things. Bush will be gone, the Evil Empire of Rovetenia and the Murky Region of Cheneykistan will fade from the geopolitical maps and yet....
Yet, it sure looks like it to me that the Dems will do their auto-da-fe dance and McCain will be grilling on the White House lawn. How has this happened? I know, I know. The Dems still have issues with this hubris thing.
Go ahead, Gwynne, roast me like a apple-eating pig. Looks like 4 more years of minority party rule.
Labels: Effluvia, Humans, Idiosyncracies
Tuesday, January 22, 2008
Out of Operation
To my devoted readers and occassional flyovers,
Folks,
I truly am not dogging it. Received my new (well, actually "Refurbished") HP Pavlion PC last Wed., complete with "Premium" Vista service...whatever the hell that means. Plugged it in. Turned it on and awaited connectivity. Initial turn-on was supposed to top out @ 20 minutes. After 40 minutes, I came back to the box to see that it had locked/seized up.
Turned it off and repeated.
Four times.
Called HP service, located in one of the caves in Afghanistan that hasn't been bombed.
No luck.
So, the "Refurbished" is being sent back to its point of shipping origin, PCMall (in my case PCMal) and attempt another choice.
Oh, for a few shekels more for a real personal computer.......
I'll be back as soon as the FedEx/UPS guy comes a calling.
Folks,
I truly am not dogging it. Received my new (well, actually "Refurbished") HP Pavlion PC last Wed., complete with "Premium" Vista service...whatever the hell that means. Plugged it in. Turned it on and awaited connectivity. Initial turn-on was supposed to top out @ 20 minutes. After 40 minutes, I came back to the box to see that it had locked/seized up.
Turned it off and repeated.
Four times.
Called HP service, located in one of the caves in Afghanistan that hasn't been bombed.
No luck.
So, the "Refurbished" is being sent back to its point of shipping origin, PCMall (in my case PCMal) and attempt another choice.
Oh, for a few shekels more for a real personal computer.......
I'll be back as soon as the FedEx/UPS guy comes a calling.
Labels: Domestic Burdens, Effluvia
Friday, November 30, 2007
Your Automotive Image
When you think of a person, specifically a friend, guy, gal, doesn't matter, what car do you associate with them? On average, folks change cars every 3-5 years, so taking a mid-mark of 4 years, a person would have gone through roughly 6-7 cars by the time they're in their mid-40's.
So, what's the car you associate with when you think of your spouse, your best friend, a work colleague? Then, think again, what's the car that you think (or is that, hope) your friends, family, and spouse think of when they ponder your personality? The car may be a motorcycle or a bicycle (thanks WP for pointing that out) for some folks.
My first car, but not my first amour de la voiture, was an"Ol' 55". I bought it for a hundred bucks (yes $100, no decimals) from a friend who decided to bag the material life and join a religious order. I thought that both God and I did o.k. on his decision. He, in turn, had purchased it from an aunt for $25.00. She had driven out to the East Coast from California with her husband. They arrived in Jersey one day, two days later her husband died. Like an Alaskan salmon on its final trip upstream.
The car served me well in my trips from Jersey to college in Montreal. In its day the Chevy was like a Taurus, i.e., a fleet car a lot of the companies had in the 1950's and 1960's. It had a straight 6, a carburetor, some brakes, seats, and that's about it. When you pulled the hood up (which felt like lifting weights; most cars were hunks of good ol' American steel back then) and peeked down into the engine compartment, you could see the street. Working on the car was a dream. Oil changes, rod work, manifold changes. You could sit inside the engine area and work on the spark plugs. Your faithful dog could sit there, right next to you, wagging off tire dust from the frame. Oil changes were clean and easy; gravity was your friend. It was easy, as a kid, to see how a car really worked.
Since the Bel-air I had was from a California telephone company fleet, it did not look like the photo here. The body was the same, but there was no chrome trim. It was a 3 speed manual on the floor; since the bench seats were high, the shifter was a chrome pole, easily 15 inches long. It was on its last life cycle when I became its caretaker. The backseats were completely shot so I ripped them out and replaced the back seat area with a rug and 3 sleeping bags. At one time, I even had two small bean bag chairs in the back. Since it was a 1955 model, there were no seat belts and Jersey laws didn't grandfather them in.
The heater core died when I was in Montreal, so I drove the car with a thick Blanket on my lap, insulated underwear, a scraper (to scrape the ice accumulating on the inside of the car, and a ball peen hammer to hit the starter when it froze up on minus 20 degree Celsius days. It drove through snow and snowbanks like a plow truck. Late model cars that pulled out of side streets when they should not have bounced off of the tank-like steel. Some guy in a Toyota came out of the parking lot of the Royal Vic and hit the massive front fender. Not even a scratch on the Chevy; his entire front end was collapsed. Ski trips were especially enjoyable as the natives had never gone to Tremblant or St. Saveur while buried on the floor of a car in sleeping bags and blankets. I put in a decent sound system and car's interior, about the size of the Academy of Music, had great acoustics. The Dead, Eagles, Miles, and Alice Cooper never sounded better to this mind's ears. For a college kid with minimal cash, it was the perfect match. The biggest kick and one I'd get on a regular basis would be the "Cinquante-cinq! Non?! comment I'd get at a stop light or sign. Truly, it was a washed out reddish color with a non-jazzy body trim, but people still got a kick of seeing the car move, especially when the streets were snow-covered.
Big Red and I lived together in Jersey, Montreal, and North Carolina where I finally parted ways with what had become an oil-eating machine. The fellow I sold it to was a self-employed carpenter. He came by in a beat-up pickup to eye it over. His dog jumped out of the cargo area, sniffed the car up and down, lifted a leg, and splashed a touch of un-holy water on a rear tire.
The fellow looked at me, said "That'll do it", handed over $500 and drove it away.
No, his dog didn't drive his pick-up behind him. Another guy, who I had mistaken for a box of clothes in the front seat, woke up and toodled on behind him.
So, what's your automotive image?
***Note Bene***:
A favorite reader who would rather comment in person (and since I love the tone of her voice, I protest not too loudly) noted that the inclusion of the structure known to some of as paragraphs, would be highly advisable if I really wanted readers (i.e., her) to make it through the end of my postings.
(New paragraph) As I strive to service my small but highly enthusiastic group of readers, I will incorporate such structure or simply keep my entries shorter.
Any other structual/grammatical comments would be appreciated.
Yes, yes, I do realize that my sentences take on Dickensian length and that I use the "/" whenever i am caught on the fence between two words, thus "/"ing for both. I am working on those problems.
So, what's the car you associate with when you think of your spouse, your best friend, a work colleague? Then, think again, what's the car that you think (or is that, hope) your friends, family, and spouse think of when they ponder your personality? The car may be a motorcycle or a bicycle (thanks WP for pointing that out) for some folks.
My first car, but not my first amour de la voiture, was an"Ol' 55". I bought it for a hundred bucks (yes $100, no decimals) from a friend who decided to bag the material life and join a religious order. I thought that both God and I did o.k. on his decision. He, in turn, had purchased it from an aunt for $25.00. She had driven out to the East Coast from California with her husband. They arrived in Jersey one day, two days later her husband died. Like an Alaskan salmon on its final trip upstream.The car served me well in my trips from Jersey to college in Montreal. In its day the Chevy was like a Taurus, i.e., a fleet car a lot of the companies had in the 1950's and 1960's. It had a straight 6, a carburetor, some brakes, seats, and that's about it. When you pulled the hood up (which felt like lifting weights; most cars were hunks of good ol' American steel back then) and peeked down into the engine compartment, you could see the street. Working on the car was a dream. Oil changes, rod work, manifold changes. You could sit inside the engine area and work on the spark plugs. Your faithful dog could sit there, right next to you, wagging off tire dust from the frame. Oil changes were clean and easy; gravity was your friend. It was easy, as a kid, to see how a car really worked.
Since the Bel-air I had was from a California telephone company fleet, it did not look like the photo here. The body was the same, but there was no chrome trim. It was a 3 speed manual on the floor; since the bench seats were high, the shifter was a chrome pole, easily 15 inches long. It was on its last life cycle when I became its caretaker. The backseats were completely shot so I ripped them out and replaced the back seat area with a rug and 3 sleeping bags. At one time, I even had two small bean bag chairs in the back. Since it was a 1955 model, there were no seat belts and Jersey laws didn't grandfather them in.
The heater core died when I was in Montreal, so I drove the car with a thick Blanket on my lap, insulated underwear, a scraper (to scrape the ice accumulating on the inside of the car, and a ball peen hammer to hit the starter when it froze up on minus 20 degree Celsius days. It drove through snow and snowbanks like a plow truck. Late model cars that pulled out of side streets when they should not have bounced off of the tank-like steel. Some guy in a Toyota came out of the parking lot of the Royal Vic and hit the massive front fender. Not even a scratch on the Chevy; his entire front end was collapsed. Ski trips were especially enjoyable as the natives had never gone to Tremblant or St. Saveur while buried on the floor of a car in sleeping bags and blankets. I put in a decent sound system and car's interior, about the size of the Academy of Music, had great acoustics. The Dead, Eagles, Miles, and Alice Cooper never sounded better to this mind's ears. For a college kid with minimal cash, it was the perfect match. The biggest kick and one I'd get on a regular basis would be the "Cinquante-cinq! Non?! comment I'd get at a stop light or sign. Truly, it was a washed out reddish color with a non-jazzy body trim, but people still got a kick of seeing the car move, especially when the streets were snow-covered.
Big Red and I lived together in Jersey, Montreal, and North Carolina where I finally parted ways with what had become an oil-eating machine. The fellow I sold it to was a self-employed carpenter. He came by in a beat-up pickup to eye it over. His dog jumped out of the cargo area, sniffed the car up and down, lifted a leg, and splashed a touch of un-holy water on a rear tire.
The fellow looked at me, said "That'll do it", handed over $500 and drove it away.
No, his dog didn't drive his pick-up behind him. Another guy, who I had mistaken for a box of clothes in the front seat, woke up and toodled on behind him.
So, what's your automotive image?
***Note Bene***:
A favorite reader who would rather comment in person (and since I love the tone of her voice, I protest not too loudly) noted that the inclusion of the structure known to some of as paragraphs, would be highly advisable if I really wanted readers (i.e., her) to make it through the end of my postings.
(New paragraph) As I strive to service my small but highly enthusiastic group of readers, I will incorporate such structure or simply keep my entries shorter.
Any other structual/grammatical comments would be appreciated.
Yes, yes, I do realize that my sentences take on Dickensian length and that I use the "/" whenever i am caught on the fence between two words, thus "/"ing for both. I am working on those problems.
Tuesday, November 27, 2007
The Ears Have It
In this Sunday's NYT Magazine, an article caught my ear. Anthony Tommasini wrote in Hard to Be an Audiophile in an iPod World, what I've been thinking since first delving into music done the iPod way. "Music has become portable, wearable. The reproduced sound, if not rich and deep, is clear and lively. That’s good enough. Recorded sound as a re-creation of reality has almost been dropped. In the article, Mark Katz, an assistant professor of music at the University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill and the author of "Capturing Sound: How Technology Has Changed Music", published by the University of California Press in 2004 points out that ads today for MP3s and iPods seldom make claims for the beauty of the sound. Instead typical ads depict stylish people with iPods as accessories to clothing, clipped on jeans, belts and shirts"I'll leave the "music as a fashion statement" argument for someone else. It's the sound quality issue that drew me into the article. First let me note one warning that Mr. Tomassini posted before he launched into the somewhat (not thoroughly) lousy sound quality of the iPod/MP3 vehicle. "Any discussion of recording technology has to note one intriguing quirk in the story: Few musicians have been audiophiles. More than the average music-loving amateur, working musicians understand the big gap between recorded music and the real thing. They can listen through the inadequacies of any recording and focus on what they want to hear."
The gist of the article is that convenience is king and that the quantity v. quality battle over sound quality has been won by the quantity side, headed by the iPod/MP3 proponents. Where does that leave the rest of us trilobytes?
Well, for one thing we can proudly say that we are not nuts and that, yes, the sound quality is a step down when you seriously downsize sound-reproducing equipment. So, a Bronx cheer in the general direction of all those iPoders who have given you hell regarding the state of your hearing.
On the other hand, since this shrinking clan of trilobytes is getting ever-smaller, it is best to lay low as it's not politically correct or personally self-protective to tell the iPoders that their perceptive qualities are going downhill. Like all things human, the cycle will come around and someday soon vast arrays of large sound-producing boxes will be in our homes again.
Labels: Educational, Effluvia, Idiosyncracies, NaBloPoMo
Friday, October 19, 2007
What's Edible
Eating, well, really NOT eating, has been on my mind lately. Since a Trader Joe's opened up in our area, we, along with the other new food stlings lemmings in our area, streamed off the cliff to their only store in the First State. Along with the various coffee offerings we were intrigued with the Dark Chocolate Covered Almonds, Greek style yogourt and frozen vegetables and frozen berries. After the recent lead 'n' toy related news came out, we started reading our food purchases' packaging more closely. Turns out the frozen green beans we'd purchased from Trader Joe's came from China. Now, most folks know that water pollution in China is pretty much an accepted thing. With minimal environmental controls and ludicrously low penalties for any violations, manufacturers can preach that they're following the laws as regards pollution and not be lying. Unfortunately, while these lax laws are one of components in keeping the cost of manufacturing low in China these laws have a direct effect on the agriculture grown there. Irrigation source water is this same, by US and European standards, polluted river water.
So, we threw out all of the frozen green beans one day. Thinking back, I hit myself in the head. Why didn't we just take all of the stuff back to TJ's? It has their brand name on it; it's not as if they could say we bought it elsewhere. Unless there's an underground market for Trader Joe's foodstuffs...
Eat Less. Pay more. It's as simple as that.
Other things I won't be eating any time soon would be Polh Stew, a delicacy in certain parts of Europe, including Slovenia.
Polh, you ask? What is it? It is this,the humble dormouse. In Italy, some folks are serving jail time for having poached these furry little things.
Thanks to Michael over at Glory of Carniola and Piran Cafe for some of the dormouse-related links. Dobar Tek!
Labels: Effluvia, Only in America, Slovenians
Thursday, October 18, 2007
Variable Costing
A bunch of us at work were at a meeting where we were introduced to the Evil World of Variable (or Marginal Cost) Pricing. The initial shock of listening to this topic as expounded by a company accountant (Gwynne!?!? How do you deal with this stuff on a daily basis?) did not result in deep hibernation as expected (shock, accountant, hibernation usually are not words one usually associated to be found in one sentence). The bean counter (Yes, I know that it’s an irritating descriptive to be hung with) had come up with a subtle plan on presenting his topic.
Radiohead. Well, Radiohead and their latest album release payment policy. Those of us musically inclined lent him our ears.
"In Rainbows" is, as most every music fan and Wall Street Journal reader out there knows, is being sold as a You Determine the Price release. At Radiohead.com, you go to the DOWNLOAD option and put in the price you’re willing to pay. $0.00 is allowable, as is $100.00. I didn’t try $1 million, in case my finger slipped and locked in the order. Negative amounts are not accepted; come on people, Radiohead is not going to pay you to be listening to their music.
The accountant started off by complementing the band on the size of their financial cojones as they were taking a shaky bet on the behavior of the human animal. Note Bene: I use cojones here in complete comfort since a former Secretary of State, Madeline Albright, deemed it possible to be speaking in public of such anatomical admiration. He noted that the bandied around term of Variable Pricing in regards to the album purchase was basically incorrect. At the least, it was misleading. While different sources out there (reliability is not being discussed here) provide definitions more fitting for the term Bid Pricing, our plucky accountant noted that most of these definitions miss out on the most important component. The cost. From there, he wended his way through the archaicity of accounting terms such as contribution margin costing, marginal value costing until he arrived at the door leading to Evil World of Variable (or Marginal Cost) Pricing.
This world sounded way too much like that physics world of Zeno’s Paradox, a place (and time) I was not interested in revisiting. Zeno’s Paradox was the nail-in-the-coffin for my career path in Physics, a very short career path, I'll add. According to that ingenious juggler Zeno of Elea, you cover half the distance between two points, over and over again, but you never get to that last point because the halving of the distance always gives you another distance to halve. Funny how my Physics teacher in high school was not able to explain how I was able to walk out of that class if I was continually covering half of the distance from my chair to the door.
Much the same with the Evil World of Variable Costing. A good or service is composed of 2 costs, fixed and variable. Whether we sell zero or a million of these goods or services, we have a fixed cost, say like rent, coffee, or Twinkies that we have to pay for. If we sell everything based on our Variable Cost, we are not paying for our rent, coffee, or those darn fattening Twinkies. We’d be selling ourselves into bankruptcy. And yet, as the accountant nudge-nudge-wink-winked, some companies’ purposely did this to maximize their sales. Not us, as our future seems quite bright, but some folks out there are unknowingly operating under Zeno’s Paradox of Accounting. (Gwynne? Ever come across this?)
Tying it all up, our accountant admitted that he was left paff as to how the financial folks involved with Radiohead came up with their "You Set the Price" scheme as cost of any sort never seemed to enter the calculation. He thought that at least a minimum price needed to be set. This faith in the Common Man that Radiohead seemed to be espousing was not in his Accounting Bible.
An interesting "What If?" music commentary on variable pricing is here. Economic Theory meets the Wallet of Reality.
Radiohead. Well, Radiohead and their latest album release payment policy. Those of us musically inclined lent him our ears.
"In Rainbows" is, as most every music fan and Wall Street Journal reader out there knows, is being sold as a You Determine the Price release. At Radiohead.com, you go to the DOWNLOAD option and put in the price you’re willing to pay. $0.00 is allowable, as is $100.00. I didn’t try $1 million, in case my finger slipped and locked in the order. Negative amounts are not accepted; come on people, Radiohead is not going to pay you to be listening to their music.
The accountant started off by complementing the band on the size of their financial cojones as they were taking a shaky bet on the behavior of the human animal. Note Bene: I use cojones here in complete comfort since a former Secretary of State, Madeline Albright, deemed it possible to be speaking in public of such anatomical admiration. He noted that the bandied around term of Variable Pricing in regards to the album purchase was basically incorrect. At the least, it was misleading. While different sources out there (reliability is not being discussed here) provide definitions more fitting for the term Bid Pricing, our plucky accountant noted that most of these definitions miss out on the most important component. The cost. From there, he wended his way through the archaicity of accounting terms such as contribution margin costing, marginal value costing until he arrived at the door leading to Evil World of Variable (or Marginal Cost) Pricing.
This world sounded way too much like that physics world of Zeno’s Paradox, a place (and time) I was not interested in revisiting. Zeno’s Paradox was the nail-in-the-coffin for my career path in Physics, a very short career path, I'll add. According to that ingenious juggler Zeno of Elea, you cover half the distance between two points, over and over again, but you never get to that last point because the halving of the distance always gives you another distance to halve. Funny how my Physics teacher in high school was not able to explain how I was able to walk out of that class if I was continually covering half of the distance from my chair to the door.
Much the same with the Evil World of Variable Costing. A good or service is composed of 2 costs, fixed and variable. Whether we sell zero or a million of these goods or services, we have a fixed cost, say like rent, coffee, or Twinkies that we have to pay for. If we sell everything based on our Variable Cost, we are not paying for our rent, coffee, or those darn fattening Twinkies. We’d be selling ourselves into bankruptcy. And yet, as the accountant nudge-nudge-wink-winked, some companies’ purposely did this to maximize their sales. Not us, as our future seems quite bright, but some folks out there are unknowingly operating under Zeno’s Paradox of Accounting. (Gwynne? Ever come across this?)
Tying it all up, our accountant admitted that he was left paff as to how the financial folks involved with Radiohead came up with their "You Set the Price" scheme as cost of any sort never seemed to enter the calculation. He thought that at least a minimum price needed to be set. This faith in the Common Man that Radiohead seemed to be espousing was not in his Accounting Bible.
An interesting "What If?" music commentary on variable pricing is here. Economic Theory meets the Wallet of Reality.
Labels: Educational, Effluvia, Quirks
Monday, July 16, 2007
The Perils of Having a Big Set
When a Limo driver has a touch of hubris, things can go embarrasingly wrong. This is what culd be called your basic see-saw limo ride. Hope no champagne was spilled and the onlookers/helpers were appropriately tipped.
Labels: Effluvia, Idiosyncracies
Wednesday, June 06, 2007
The Absolutely Final "Final Game" Tonight?
Ottawa Senators 
Scott Burnside,one of ESPN's hockey writers, on interpretation of an interview.
"What they said:
"Our focus is just on the game. Obviously, the end result is there, but we've worked too hard and we've sacrificed too much to lose focus at this point." -- Veteran Todd Marchant on not thinking too far ahead.
What they meant:
"Have you ever heard what (coach of the Anaheim Ducks, Randy )Carlyle sounds like when he gets angry? He makes Al Pacino in 'Scarface' look like Howdy Doody. So, we'll just pay attention to the game until he tells us it's time to open the champagne, and not before. I've been in the league since 1994 and he still scares the bejeebers out of me.""
Anaheim Ducks
No team has blown a 3-1 lead in a Best of Seven format in 65 years. In 1942, a team known as the Toronto Maple Leafs came back from a 3-0 deficit to beat the Detroit Red WIngs in 7 games. That team resembles the current Maple Leafs in that both were/are based in Toronto.
Should be an entertaining game as the Senators may actually have their sticks checked for incorrect curvature thereby resulting in at least 50% of their shots to be on the Ducks' net rather than on the hot dog guy selling his wares. The big question is, "When will Alfredsson get clocked for that meathead play at the end of the 2nd period in the last game where he mistook Scott Niedermeyer for a hot dog vendor and shot at him with a slapshot?". Mr. Frozen (cuz he's beyond cool), Scott Niedermeyer's pulse was reported to have risen from 25 to 27, a major emotional display on his part.
I'm still rooting for the Senators...but that Alfredsson play is starting to sway me.
Scott Burnside,one of ESPN's hockey writers, on interpretation of an interview.
"What they said:
"Our focus is just on the game. Obviously, the end result is there, but we've worked too hard and we've sacrificed too much to lose focus at this point." -- Veteran Todd Marchant on not thinking too far ahead.
What they meant:
"Have you ever heard what (coach of the Anaheim Ducks, Randy )Carlyle sounds like when he gets angry? He makes Al Pacino in 'Scarface' look like Howdy Doody. So, we'll just pay attention to the game until he tells us it's time to open the champagne, and not before. I've been in the league since 1994 and he still scares the bejeebers out of me.""
Anaheim Ducks
No team has blown a 3-1 lead in a Best of Seven format in 65 years. In 1942, a team known as the Toronto Maple Leafs came back from a 3-0 deficit to beat the Detroit Red WIngs in 7 games. That team resembles the current Maple Leafs in that both were/are based in Toronto.
Should be an entertaining game as the Senators may actually have their sticks checked for incorrect curvature thereby resulting in at least 50% of their shots to be on the Ducks' net rather than on the hot dog guy selling his wares. The big question is, "When will Alfredsson get clocked for that meathead play at the end of the 2nd period in the last game where he mistook Scott Niedermeyer for a hot dog vendor and shot at him with a slapshot?". Mr. Frozen (cuz he's beyond cool), Scott Niedermeyer's pulse was reported to have risen from 25 to 27, a major emotional display on his part.
I'm still rooting for the Senators...but that Alfredsson play is starting to sway me.
Labels: Effluvia, Self-Therapy
Monday, June 04, 2007
Letting Frank Rich Speak For Me
In a friendly badinage concerning our differing opinions of the last two-termers this country has had guiding our ship of state from the troubled waters of moral turpitude through the straits of incompetence to the vast oceans of secrecy, privlege, and continual 9/11 justified lying, Gwynne at The Shallow End and I have spoken our piece and hopefully are still at peace, with each other. I'm hoping political opinion will not muddy the Adriatic clear waters of our friendship. Let's face it; each of us has minimal, make that infinitesimally miniscule, effect on how our country is run. The 2000 election is exhibit #1.
My displeasure for the current administration unfortunately doesn't make me instantly erudite about expressing the multitude of reasons I am cooking in my own qualunquismo stew. So, without further ado, let me simply extract an excerpt or two from Frank Rich's most recent Sunday NYT Op-Ed piece titled "Failed Presidents Ain't What They They Used To Be".
In attending a recent performance of "Frost/Nixon", Mr. Rich was bowled over by the performance of Tony Award nominated Frank Langella. He writes:
"...but Mr. Langella unearths humanity and pathos in the old scoundrel eking out his exile in San Clemente. For anyone who ever hated Nixon, this achievement is so shocking that it's hard to resist a thought experiment the moment you left the theater: will it someday be possible to feel a pang of sympathy for George W. Bush?
Perhaps not. It's hard to pity someone who, to me anyway, is too slight to hate. Unlike Nixon, President Bush is less an overreaching Machiavelli than an epic blunderer surrounded by Machiavellis. He lacks the crucial element of self-awareness that gave Nixon his tragic depth. Nixon came form nothing, loathed himself and was all too keenly aware when he was up to dirty tricks. Mr. Bush has a charmed biography, is full of himself, and is far too blinded by self-righteousness to even fleetingly recognize the havoc he's inflicted at home and abroad. Though historians may judge him a worse president than Nixon-some already have-at the personal level his is not a grand Shakespearean failure. It would be a waste of Frank Langella's talent to play George W. Bush (though not, necessarily, of Matthew McConaughey's (OUCH, that was not necessary)).
This is in part why persistent cries for impeachment have gone nowhere in the Democratic Party hierarchy. Arguably the most accurate gut check on what the country feels about Mr. Bush was a January Newsweek poll finding that a sizable American majority just wished that his "presidency was over" This flatlining administration inspires contempt and dismay more than the deep-seated long-term revulsion whipped up by Nixon; voters just can't wait for Mr. Bush to leave Washington so that someone, anyone, can turn the page and start rectifying the damage. Yet if he lacks Nixon's larger-than-life villany, he will nonetheless leave Americans feeling much the same way they did after Nixon fled: in a state of anger about the state of the nation."
Addendum June 5th. Seems a few pundits are going to see "Frost/Nixon" and mull over the current President Bush's future consideration of importance vis-a-vis, say Preseident Nixon. Here's George Packer's take from the most recent New Yorker. Do these folks gather in the lobby and share their soon-to-be-published thoughts or is there just a similar mindset inspired by the play?
My displeasure for the current administration unfortunately doesn't make me instantly erudite about expressing the multitude of reasons I am cooking in my own qualunquismo stew. So, without further ado, let me simply extract an excerpt or two from Frank Rich's most recent Sunday NYT Op-Ed piece titled "Failed Presidents Ain't What They They Used To Be".
In attending a recent performance of "Frost/Nixon", Mr. Rich was bowled over by the performance of Tony Award nominated Frank Langella. He writes:
"...but Mr. Langella unearths humanity and pathos in the old scoundrel eking out his exile in San Clemente. For anyone who ever hated Nixon, this achievement is so shocking that it's hard to resist a thought experiment the moment you left the theater: will it someday be possible to feel a pang of sympathy for George W. Bush?
Perhaps not. It's hard to pity someone who, to me anyway, is too slight to hate. Unlike Nixon, President Bush is less an overreaching Machiavelli than an epic blunderer surrounded by Machiavellis. He lacks the crucial element of self-awareness that gave Nixon his tragic depth. Nixon came form nothing, loathed himself and was all too keenly aware when he was up to dirty tricks. Mr. Bush has a charmed biography, is full of himself, and is far too blinded by self-righteousness to even fleetingly recognize the havoc he's inflicted at home and abroad. Though historians may judge him a worse president than Nixon-some already have-at the personal level his is not a grand Shakespearean failure. It would be a waste of Frank Langella's talent to play George W. Bush (though not, necessarily, of Matthew McConaughey's (OUCH, that was not necessary)).
This is in part why persistent cries for impeachment have gone nowhere in the Democratic Party hierarchy. Arguably the most accurate gut check on what the country feels about Mr. Bush was a January Newsweek poll finding that a sizable American majority just wished that his "presidency was over" This flatlining administration inspires contempt and dismay more than the deep-seated long-term revulsion whipped up by Nixon; voters just can't wait for Mr. Bush to leave Washington so that someone, anyone, can turn the page and start rectifying the damage. Yet if he lacks Nixon's larger-than-life villany, he will nonetheless leave Americans feeling much the same way they did after Nixon fled: in a state of anger about the state of the nation."
Addendum June 5th. Seems a few pundits are going to see "Frost/Nixon" and mull over the current President Bush's future consideration of importance vis-a-vis, say Preseident Nixon. Here's George Packer's take from the most recent New Yorker. Do these folks gather in the lobby and share their soon-to-be-published thoughts or is there just a similar mindset inspired by the play?
Thursday, November 23, 2006
Taking One's Seat
(In lieu of a Thanksgiving post today and still trying to follow the letter of the NaBloPoMo rules, here's a piece I've been working on, off and on. Hope it's not excessively misanthropic).
It's lunch time here in mid-Delaware. Pickings are few for meal possibilities. Some folks bring their own and cram into a small unventilated room with a perpetually loud tv hanging on the ceiling, blasting soap operas or local news at you. Seating is limited, moods are low, and the smell of cleaning products puts a crinkle in your nose. So, most of us head out for grub during the work week.
Due to the high level of people contact I have at work, I tend to drive out solo. It's not that I don't like people...well, o.k., I don't (though I'm not alone on that issue) care for them...excessively. I'm happy, perfectly happy, sitting in an eating establishment with a newspaper or a book. I've seen more people doing this sort of thing where, years ago, I tended to get strange looks at times. But, no more "Whatcha readin' for?" comments or "We've got ourselves a reader" moments. Bill Hicks had left the room. Folks were taking up the printed word! Or, simply got tired of their fellow man.
Positioning the paper is important. It acts not just as reading matter but also as an indicator to anyone approaching your table that you're into some serious reading and "No, really, it's not you. It's an earth-changing article I have to get through before lunch is over", just will not come out right, no matter how carefully or succinctly you state it. So, after claiming a table I open the newspaper on the diagonal, shutting off one sode of a table completely. I tend to sit side-saddle at a table, indciating that I'm here only temporarily and I'll be off in a flash if unwanted social engagement is engaged in.
Not too friendly, right? Well, if you've been caught up in enough empty or dangerous conversations (they being any that stray into the minefield of office gossip), you know that silence and some down time from office life are necessary components of a safe scenario at work. The subscription to the NYT is a very cheap medication against the infection that I've seen enough folks suffer when they go out with colleagues from work. It's a guarantee that lunchtime will see someone getting loose or nervous and then finding themselves in trouble before they even leave the diner. I can't explain the viciousness of gossip; most of these folks are good people. Talk has a life of its own and it's your own life it may be claiming, if you're free with your thoughts and words. I'll stick to the paper, it's gossip I can deal with
It's lunch time here in mid-Delaware. Pickings are few for meal possibilities. Some folks bring their own and cram into a small unventilated room with a perpetually loud tv hanging on the ceiling, blasting soap operas or local news at you. Seating is limited, moods are low, and the smell of cleaning products puts a crinkle in your nose. So, most of us head out for grub during the work week.
Due to the high level of people contact I have at work, I tend to drive out solo. It's not that I don't like people...well, o.k., I don't (though I'm not alone on that issue) care for them...excessively. I'm happy, perfectly happy, sitting in an eating establishment with a newspaper or a book. I've seen more people doing this sort of thing where, years ago, I tended to get strange looks at times. But, no more "Whatcha readin' for?" comments or "We've got ourselves a reader" moments. Bill Hicks had left the room. Folks were taking up the printed word! Or, simply got tired of their fellow man.
Positioning the paper is important. It acts not just as reading matter but also as an indicator to anyone approaching your table that you're into some serious reading and "No, really, it's not you. It's an earth-changing article I have to get through before lunch is over", just will not come out right, no matter how carefully or succinctly you state it. So, after claiming a table I open the newspaper on the diagonal, shutting off one sode of a table completely. I tend to sit side-saddle at a table, indciating that I'm here only temporarily and I'll be off in a flash if unwanted social engagement is engaged in.
Not too friendly, right? Well, if you've been caught up in enough empty or dangerous conversations (they being any that stray into the minefield of office gossip), you know that silence and some down time from office life are necessary components of a safe scenario at work. The subscription to the NYT is a very cheap medication against the infection that I've seen enough folks suffer when they go out with colleagues from work. It's a guarantee that lunchtime will see someone getting loose or nervous and then finding themselves in trouble before they even leave the diner. I can't explain the viciousness of gossip; most of these folks are good people. Talk has a life of its own and it's your own life it may be claiming, if you're free with your thoughts and words. I'll stick to the paper, it's gossip I can deal with
Labels: Effluvia
Thursday, June 01, 2006
Borat's Speedo
Here, (yes, you'll click to actually see the pic) is the World Famous Borat (aka Ali G, aka Sasha Baron Cohen) @ Cannes, just in time to resurrect a post of mine from last year, the Summer of Croatia. No amount of slivovica could be poured down my throat to be wearing that.
Labels: Effluvia, Humans, People, Quirks
